The footsteps of time forgotten
by weeziewoo
Summary: Frankie Rain a seventeen year old private detective thinks he's in for any other job, But this one hit's a little close to home.


Charlie wasn't sure what happened exactly, one moment she was peacefully sat at her desk and the next she was under it. A masked figure entered the room, with a gun in hand, they yelled at the teacher.  
"Where is Victor Quinn?" The teacher shuddered and pointed a quivering finger to my brothers designated seat at the back of the room. He stood up, his hands raised high. A single shot pierced the heavy air. It hit Victor in the Chest. He fell to the floor, the masked figure spun around and fired one more shot, at the teacher. She turned her attention back to her brother, he had died instantly. She'd watched him die…

The masked figure fled the scene. They had shot forty-six students and four teachers, that's what the man had said and Charlie knew every one of them. The funeral was all -eral and no fun- Her mother's acting was ridiculous. The good for nothing alcoholic child abuser cried and demanded to see the person that killed her son bought to justice. When she had been killing him slowly for years.

She remembered how he was; bitter, sarcastic and depressed. Dark haired, periwinkle eyed rebel. Who always seemed to have a cigarette strung between his lips. It was their shared birthday when he was shot. They'd both turned sixteen and wanted to see the world, he never got too. That was six months ago…

Charlie sat stiffly, in the uncomfortable wooden chair supplied. Her movements seemed robotic as she slowly turned her head towards the pair ahead of her. Frankie Rain was a private detective. He'd heard stories like this before. Of school shootings and child abusers. The musings of a mad man. But none seemed as convoluted as this one. He turned to his partner. The ever faithful Cassidie Owens. The Watson to his Sherlock. Cass smiled softly at Charlie.

"So your mother was the school shooter? That's what you're saying?" She turned to the old tape player next to her and re watched the funeral scene over. Charlie was right. Her mother's acting was painfully obvious. She tapped her nails against the table.  
"What do you think Frankie?" She turned back to her partner. His pale blue eyes sparkled, the way they always did when he was thinking and his ever untameable hair made him look insane. Charlie spoke once more. "I think my mother wants to kill me now. Because I know the truth." With that the masked figure appeared in the doorway. Frankie jumps up at once, knife in hand, Cass stands behind him. A small hand gun glued to her palm, Cass leaps forward and presses the gun to the mysterious person's temple. Frankie steps forward hand stretched out. He pulls the mask off the person…

The person was revealed, Daisy Rose. Charlie and Victor's mother. He lifts the knife to the woman's throat. "Give me one good reason I shouldn't kill you right now." He growls out. The woman seemingly unafraid round house kicks the knife away from Frankie. She punches him in the face, sending him sprawling to the floor. She pulls out a gun of her own and aims it at the unconscious detective. "One move and he gets it." The message was simple but deadly. "Now, Cassidie is it? You have a choice. Charlie or Frankie?" Cass squeaked. "What?" The woman stared at her.  
"The question was simple. Who should I kill. Charlie or Frankie?" Charlie looked at her with pleading eyes. Cass saw people die all the time and Frankie was her friend. "Please Cass, just let me die. I want to see Victor again." She sobbed. Cass shook. "Char-lie." She shuddered. The revolver clicked and a single shot made its way into Charlie's head. Daisy dropped the gun and ran. Cass reacted quickly, she dialled an ambulance. It was on the scene within minutes. Charlie was dead and Frankie was taken to hospital.

Ten-year-old Frankie sits on his own in a park. Two seven year olds chase up to him. "Hey mister can you get our ball from the tree?" Asks one.  
"Victor where are your manners? Ask his name!" Yells the other.  
"I'm sorry. My name is Victor and this is my sister Charlie. What's your name?" Victor says smiling. Frankie didn't know how to reply.  
"Uh, Frankie." He said finally. Frankie helped get the ball down then turned back to look at the kids. Victor evidently had bruises. He didn't know where they were from at the time.

Fourteen-year-old Frankie sits on a wall in town. Two eleven year olds walk up to him. "Hey mister, could you spare us a dollar?" Asks one.  
"Victor, ask the man his name!" Scolds the other. This situation seems familiar to him. "It's Charlie and Victor, right?" Frankie asks.  
"Yeah, how'd you know?" Charlie replies.  
"Four years ago." Frankie states simply.

Frankie should have known, the sixteen-year-old bomb shell that walked into his office was the same girl but she looked so different without her brother. When she mentioned child abuse, everything made sense. The bruises from nine years ago. The asking of the dollar from five years ago.

The first thing he said when he woke up was 'Charlie' He was distraught to know she was dead. He cried at the funeral. Her mother never showed, now that same woman who'd been introduced as Charlie and Victor's mother sat next to him. Her movements rehearsed and acted almost flawlessly. The systematic dab at the eye, to appear as if she was crying. Frankie was having none of it.

He exploded at the police constable who sat opposite him. "This woman has killed her two children!" He raged furiously. Daisy sat up in her chair, the movement looked robotic, as if it required no effort at all. She had been wearing gloves both days, covering her finger prints. "Why would I ever want to kill my own children?" She asks, the constable contemplated the question.  
"Mr Rain, what evidence do you have to back your acquisition?" The constable's far to calm voice erupted the strong tension.  
"I was there, I removed her mask and the she knocked me out." He replied. The woman replied with the most remarkable reply.  
"The room was dark, correct? What is seen in shadow is easily mistaken Mr Rain, that could have been the face of anyone."  
The conversation was cut off there as Frankie stood up and swiftly stormed from the room.

Frankie returned to his small one-bedroom apartment, he turned on the television and that was when he saw on the news. A woman bought to justice after seventeen years, after injecting one of her three week old twin daughters with fifty grams of morphine killing her instantly. The news anchor claimed that the other surviving twin disappeared and was presumed dead. He knew the other twin wasn't dead. Born as twins. Two baby girls, one had died a few weeks after birth. The other twin was mercilessly beat at home, the surviving twin cuts her hair short and pleads with her mother, 'I'm not a girl mama, and I never will be.' After that point the beatings had been more frequent and acidic words often hung heavily in the air 'I have no son.' And 'I wish you were the one that died' Were thrown at the hapless child. The child runs away from at age nine. Escaping from one awful situation to another, the child lived on the streets alone for years. Eight years had passed, the boy had become successful and had found a home, but he was still taken many years' prior in his dreams. The story was no random fantasy of course. It was the story of Frankie's life.

His name had been Paris, his dead sister of whom he never knew the name had been dubbed London, to match the theme of cities. For the first few years on the street things had got messy for him, lots of drinking and run ins with the police. He'd learnt to get on their good side, and even eventually became one of them.

Even now he missed those days on the street where he didn't have a boss. But he was thankful for now, with a steady income and a roof over his head.


End file.
